


Repeat Offender (the Pro Bono Remix)

by circ_bamboo



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen, OFC - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circ_bamboo/pseuds/circ_bamboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk has absolutely no desire to show up in court and defend himself on his latest set of charges. Neither does his attorney. They both do it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repeat Offender (the Pro Bono Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Repeat Offender](https://archiveofourown.org/works/226153) by [igrockspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock). 



The problem with being a member of the Starfleet JAG corps was that, even with twenty-odd years of specialization in a certain field, one still had to do what the ‘fleet ordered, when they ordered it. Since the ‘fleet had interpreted the Federation Bar Association’s _pro bono_ requirement in their own idiosyncratic way, for fifty hours a year, JAG officers had to do work for people who weren’t active-duty Starfleet officers or Command itself, but who could claim the ‘fleet’s free legal services nonetheless. Commander Viviana Méndez Soliz had begged and pleaded and complained, and had tried to get her work on a particular admiral’s rather messy divorce considered as her free work for the year, but the admiralty hadn't accepted it. Instead they'd given her a week’s worth of work as a traveling attorney, handling criminal cases.

It wasn’t exactly the assignment Viv had hoped for. Sure, she’d done criminal work in her first four years, during the required rotation, but since then--in other words, the last twenty years--she’d pretty much only done family law: divorces, separations, adoptions, custody, and child and spousal support cases. Normally she just handled more of the same for her _pro bono_ hours. She _liked_ family law; other JAG officers loathed it as _overly emotional_ and _requiring as much counseling and hand-holding as actual lawyering_ , but she’d always liked those parts of it.

Instead, though, she’d spent Monday bailing hungover cadets out of jail (there were never enough attorneys to do that job) and Tuesday getting spoiled ‘fleet brats out of speeding tickets. Wednesday had her in Boston, second-chairing the last day a _murder trial_ of all things after the original second-chair had gotten sick. And today, Thursday, had her in semi-rural Iowa, handling a defense for some commander’s kid who was getting charged for the first time as an adult.

She sat in the hallway, legs crossed in her pretentious civilian skirted suit; she wasn’t allowed to wear her uniform while doing pro bono work and she felt simultaneously overdressed and underdressed without it. Flipping through the file with the tip of her stylus, she counted fourteen separate charges on his juvenile record, and then the one from today. Disorderly conduct, disorderly conduct, shoplifting, reckless operation of a vehicle . . . basically, it looked like the kid had been on probation since his thirteenth birthday. The Federation prosecutor was offering ten days in jail and another year of probation for his current charge of, what else, disorderly conduct. From the facts, it looked like he’d been in a bar fight. From the pictures included in the file, it was undoubtedly true.

Ten days in jail wasn’t bad, Viv thought, especially considering that he’d been on probation at the time and, by all rights, ought to have his probation revoked and should be spending the next three hundred and sixty-four days in jail. He already had two days’ worth of jail credit from an overnight stay, so he would only have eight more to serve. Adding another year of probation--probation to the court, so all he’d have to do was _not get arrested_ \--wouldn’t really be much of a bother. Actually, it was a really good deal, and there was no way she could get anything better.

Okay. Time to talk to the client. “James Kirk?” she called out, and a young man, matching the pictures except his black eyes had faded somewhat, stood.

“Here,” he said, indicating his great disdain with just the single word and an insolent shoulder. He was wearing a charcoal-gray suit that didn’t fit him very well--it was too big in the shoulders and chest, like it had been borrowed from an older brother or maybe his father--and a black tie, narrow in a style that had been out of date for more than ten years. His blondish hair was ruffled, as if he’d been running his hands through it, and his eyes were very bright blue, his gaze sharp.

“Commander Viviana Méndez Soliz, Starfleet JAG,” she said, holding out a hand, which he ignored. “I’ll be serving as your defense attorney for the arraignment today.”

“What are they offering this time?” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Let’s go into one of the meeting rooms and discuss it.”

They did, and she started in with her usual spiel. “You’ve been charged with disorderly conduct, which is a misdemeanor, and normally carries a sentence of--”

“I know all that,” he said, reaching for the padd. “What’s the offer?”

She let him look at it, but kept her stylus. “This is your first time in adult court, with the full panoply of sentencing available, isn’t it?” Viv clenched her jaw. At least the cadets had pretended to be grateful.

“Yeah,” James Kirk said, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t know the ropes.” He dropped the padd back on the table and slouched in his chair.

She sighed and gave up. “Ten days, which means eight more, and another year tacked onto your probation.”

“Eight days?” he said, and sat up straighter. “Well, shit.”

“Don’t say that in front of the judge,” she said.

Kirk gave her a _you can’t possibly think I’m that stupid_ look, and said, “I’ll plead guilty. No big deal. Right?”

“It’s a very generous offer,” she said. “What you do is entirely up to you--we’ll take this as far as you want to--but in my opinion, eight days in jail is about the best you’ll get.”

“Yeah, I know.” He slouched in his chair again. “It was my birthday. If I’d gotten in the fight a few hours earlier, I could have slid under and been a juvenile still.”

The court probably would have certified him for trial as an adult, if it would have been that close, but Viv didn’t bother telling him that. Instead she said, “I’ll tell the prosecutor you’re ready to go before the judge, and then you can go into the courtroom. It’s probably a little bigger than you’re used to, and unlike in juvenile court, there will probably be spectators. I’ll be up there with you, once they call your case, but the judge will read the charges, and then he’ll ask you how you plead, and you’ll answer him with either ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty.’”

He rolled his eyes again. “You’ve got my file, don’t you? Then you should know I’ve done this a dozen times already.”

“Let me do my job,” she said, nettled.

“I could have done this myself,” he said. “Mom insisted on calling the ‘fleet.”

“Okay,” she said. “Sure. Next time you can represent yourself. Let’s hope they continue giving you generous offers like this. I mean, if not, I’m sure you’re an expert at plea bargaining.” Damnit. She wasn’t supposed to get sarcastic, especially at a barely-eighteen-year-old kid like Kirk.

He laughed, though, and gave her a genuine smile. “Yeah, you have a point,” he said. “Still. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

That smile . . . he looked familiar. Not familiar enough to jog a name out of her memory, so she shook her head slightly and said, “Sure.”

It was only the work of a moment to tell the clerk that they were ready to call his case, and a moment after that she nodded at Kirk, to have him walk down the center aisle to stand by her at the podium. “Your Honor, my name is Viviana Méndez Soliz, S-O-L-I-Z, Federation bar number 015768439C, and I am representing James Kirk today.”

“James T. Kirk, do you live at . . . ”

As the judge spoke, she noticed Kirk glancing at someone out of the corner of his eye, and she turned her head just enough to see. _Wait._ Was that--

Kirk.

Winona Kirk.

James T. Kirk.

_Shit._ She should have realized earlier. Kirk; Riverside, Iowa; early January birthday: exactly the right age to be the _Kelvin_ baby. Viv had handled the execution of George S. Kirk, Sr.’s will just eighteen years ago, back when she’d been younger and still did things like wills and estates regularly.

Still. It didn’t change anything, and her representation of Kirk was almost over.

“Mr. Kirk, you have been charged with the crime of disorderly conduct. How do you plead?”

Ahh, here it was.

He straightened right before he spoke, squaring his shoulders, and his voice rang out strongly in the courtroom. “Guilty, your honor.”

Viv blinked. He’d said he would plead guilty, and it didn’t really surprise her, but his presence as he said it--

This was why she didn’t do criminal cases. She always found herself hoping that _this_ charge would be the last charge, that _this_ time they’d figure it out and straighten up and _do_ something, but frankly, the odds were against it. With Kirk’s record, it really wasn’t all that likely. He’d probably be back in six months, with another low-level misdemeanor, until he finally got charged with assault in one of the bar fights, or drove drunk, or something that would put him away for multiple years. She could only hope, though, because if she was any judge of character, this young man clearly was meant for something better than petty crime.

She watched him glance back at Winona Kirk again, and sighed mentally. Maybe this time she’d be wrong.


End file.
